


Quite Contrary

by x_los



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-14
Updated: 2008-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a parallel universe the Doctor and the Mistress have been chasing each other around the universe, fueled by sexual tension, the detritus of their past relationship and an ongoing custody battle over their golden retriever which, while only briefly mentioned in this story, has been the pretext of many an excuse to <s>see each other</s> beat off the haunting specter of Lesbian Bed Death with a <s>stick</s> TCE. After all this a collision with their male equivalents is not a terribly surprising development.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite Contrary

Fanfic _and_ fanart: Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together!

Title: Quite Contrary

Author: [](http://x-los.livejournal.com/profile)[**x_los**](http://x-los.livejournal.com/)  

Artist: [](http://gothic-hamlet.livejournal.com/profile)[**gothic_hamlet**](http://gothic-hamlet.livejournal.com/)  

Rating: R

Pairing: Ten/Master, Girl!Doctor/Mistress

Summary: In a parallel universe the Doctor and the Mistress have been chasing each other around the universe, fueled by sexual tension, the detritus of their past relationship and an ongoing custody battle over their golden retriever which, while only briefly mentioned in this story, has been the pretext of many an excuse to ~~see each other~~ beat off the haunting specter of Lesbian Bed Death with a ~~stick~~ TCE. After all this a collision with their male equivalents is not a terribly surprising development.

Betas: [](http://aralias.livejournal.com/profile)[**aralias**](http://aralias.livejournal.com/)   asked the stunningly useful questions "But why is the Master unconscious? And isn't Lolita a boy in this universe?" To which the only possible answers were "Death by Sofa!!" and "Er... maybe."

 

 

Paired with a **lovely drawing** of Girl!Mistress by [](http://gothic-hamlet.livejournal.com/profile)[**gothic_hamlet**](http://gothic-hamlet.livejournal.com/) 

 

#    
  
Quite Contrary

 

 

 

  
“What?”  
  
The Doctor blinked at her. She was about his height—within a millimeter of it if one wanted make a rough estimate, which he could because she was standing in such violation of his personal space bubble that a side-by-side comparison was not so much possible as inevitable.  
  
“What _?_ ” she repeated.  
  
“ _What_?” he repeated right back, determined to figure out why he was no longer in his TARDIS.  
  
“WHAT? **”** she parried, equally interested in how _he_ had managed to materialize in _her_ TARDIS when this was what the shields (which she’d flicked back on not five minutes ago, after that brief escapade with her fifth self-- all short striped skirt, cricket bat and blonde pigtails-- near disaster, and Belgium, had been nicely wrapped up, thank you very much) were for.  
  
“Is the cute one back again? Oh, I knew she’d come round eventually!”  
    
The female voice careened around the corner, followed shortly by its owner: a woman with an elfin face and a salacious glint to her eyes. She did a full-body double take at discovering two male Time Lords cluttering up the console room, one standing confronting the Doctor and one sprawled unconscious on the floor, and then managed a quick pout at the distinct absence of her old flame.  
  
“What the hell--” she began, but her eyes widened with sudden recognition and she hauled the unconscious man up into a sitting position. She put a hand to his face to filch what she wanted from his mind. The Master’s eyes opened instantly and he smacked her away.  
  
“ **Ouch** , you stupid fuck! It’s _me_ , and this is a Golyadkin Doubling Paradox.  I need access to your mind to get the information on which fold you’re from, or you can bid a tearful tubby bye-bye to ever seeing your world again.” 

  
The Mistress rubbed her jaw, glaring at her prone other-self. “I assure you, the cosmos can’t take more than one of me, and mine’s the prior claim.” She glanced up at the Doctors. “Are you two going to eventually gibber the proper coordinates at each other or did you plan on sputtering on until the heat death of the universe?”

 

“I’m getting to it,” her Doctor huffed, crossing her arms over her breasts and playing with the sonic screwdriver and her new mobile dangling off her charm bracelet.

 

“Oh, you didn’t even recognize he was you, did you?” The Mistress had her hands on her hips, and the male Doctor recognized the gesture. Behind her the Master struggled to his feet, wincing, hand to his violated head. “Typical naive Doctor,” the Mistress bitched. “Completely incapable of understanding herself, even when confronted with a doppelganger.”

 

“ ‘Oh, Doctor,’ ” the Doctor sing-songed in a cruelly accurate impression of the Mistress’s high, operatic voice, “ ‘How can you not want to take advantage of an opportunity like this?’ Remember that? Half an hour ago when you were whimpering like something out of a particularly juicy Mills & Boone novel for a crack at two of my ‘idiotic’ self in one go? You loose your ‘I hate the Doctor’ credibility for the week, sweetie.”

 

The Mistress rolled her eyes. “Do you ever shut up?”

 

“ ‘But it’s heeeeeer,’ ” The Doctor cooed . “ ‘The _deliciously_ cute one with that marvelously useful bat. Oh Doctor, _Doctors,_ pleeeeease?’ ”

 

“I brought you a war android from Xeriphas, back when you were modeling the Cricket-fancying Naughty School Girl look,  and you _still_ wouldn’t put out. I should have known that unbelievable TARDIS-colliding threesome opportunity aside you’d remain a tease,” the Mistress hissed. That was the one thing she gave Earth credit for: they never had outfits like that when we were actual schoolgirls. Not on Gallifrey, home of the shapeless robe. The Doctor was always nattering on about how she needed to learn to appreciate humans and their culture, and here she'd been quite eager to study all those little pleats and short hemlines and never once had she gotten to indulge her curiosity!

  
“I was never!”the Doctor shrieked. “When we had that conversation about our relationship on pre-historic Earth during that ludicrous Concord farrago of yours-- and I reiterate, _bravo on that one,_ sweetie, you looked like a drag queen for most of the day and you’ve had better-developed schemes to get out of walking the dog-- I made it clear that we were on a break while you re-evaluated your various commitments to me and your own twisted ambitions!”  
  
“The trouble with you constantly wanting to talk about our feelings is that it gets in the way of actually experiencing them. And manifesting them in the form of, and I _do_ say so myself, incredibly hot sex. What about that is hard to understand?” The Mistress tugged at her long hair with both hands in exasperation. “And you can’t lark about in short skirts and tight sweaters, carrying around something with a spanking end and a fun knobby shaft thing, wave it in my face repeatedly, and say you’re not taunting me with it! That’s just disingenuous!”

  
Shelooked to herself, or himself, for support and got the Master’s ‘well, obviously’ hand gesture. The Mistress took this as her cue to soldier on.  
  
She sighed epically. “I always wanted to tug on those pigtails like handlebars while the rest of you was more interestingly engaged.”  
  
The Doctor rolled her eyes. “Oh spare me.”  
  
“I _did_ ,” the Mistress groused.

  
“This is all eerily familiar,” the male Doctor said.  
  
The Master put a hand to his shoulder. “You know what else would be a wasted opportunity?” he said, starring hard at the female Doctor’s chest, which jiggled emphatically as she argued, just to clarify his meaning.  
  
The Mistress moved to slide an arm around his waist, toying with the fabric covering his hips.  
  
“I’m **so** smart,” she purred.

  
“I am awfully proud of myself,” the Master admitted in turn, looking her over lecherously without a scrap of shame.  
  
His hand found the small of her back, and she leaned like a needy cat into his touch as he tapped their own rhythm on one of her most sensitive spots. When he slipped his fingers through the back lacing of her top and hit the spinal nerve endings that shot straight to her brain, blatantly naughty suggestions and sensations ricocheted between them like the galaxy’s most fun brainstorming session. They let out a fluttery ‘Oh’ in chorus.  
  
The Doctors unconsciously tried to raise their hands to the napes of their necks in their ‘embarrassed at being thoroughly turned on’ gesture and ended up knocking into each other and erupting into flushing and glares as they each took a deliberate step away.  
  
“Oh come on, Doctor! Not even you can be a prude all day long, my dearest.” The Mistress smiled at her Doctor with a fondness that was somewhat easier to read on her softer face than in the expression of her companion. The male Doctor was surprised to recognize the look as one of the Master’s— hers was a little more naked, but conveyed the same meaning.  
  
The female Doctor’s lip quirked from its stern expression.  
  
“I suppose I owe you for my earlier body getting insufferably--” The Doctor grasped for a good term for her Fifth self’s particular form of uptight reserve.  
  
“British,” the Mistress supplied helpfully.  
  
“Oh…now, come on,” the male Doctor said. “Whatever I am, or was, I’m not British. That’s a totally inappropriate response to the situation at hand.”  
  
He looked from his Master(s) to herself, making a desperate last grasp as sanity, because, obviously, a Golyadkin Doubling Paradox was Serious Business and they should start fixing it. They should get back to their own universe-fold, they should—god, if his counterpart and the Mistress had Hot Lesbian Sex here, now, in the console room, and he _missed_ it, was he going to be ruing the road not taken forever? That would certainly go some way towards explaining the Valeyard’s irritability...

  
“Is it really so wrong?” the female Doctor mused thoughtfully, toying with her brown hair and worrying her plump lower lip with her sonic screwdriver in a gesture at least 50% of the room found incredibly distracting. “I mean, it wouldn’t be infidelity, just the usual with literal knobs on and a bit of harmless self-love. We can pop you back to your universe tomorrow morning, and it’d be awfully interesting. In fact,” she warmed to the topic, “can’t turn our backs on an adventure! Allons-y!”  
  
“But—but--” her male counterpart sputtered, equal parts unconvinced and dazed by the way the Mistress looked to be kneading her double’s ass.  
  
“Oh for the love of Rassilon’s sainted ovaries--” The Mistress threw off her top in a bold, elegant gesture. She quite liked the Doctor’s confused pout, but (to misquote the Rani) why ‘are we still talking when there’s sexing to do?’  
  
Her perfect, pale breasts pebbled with the slight cold of the room. Intrigued, her counterpart palmed one, and she threw her neck back and squeaked as an unexpected callus brushed at her nipple. Their expressions, with half-slitted eyes and slightly parted mouths, were identical. When they gave long, shuddering breaths in unison and quirked their heads to stare at him like they were examining his resistance and finding it an amusing challenge, the Doctor, predictably, lost all will to really object.  
  
His counterpart started nibbling his neck just how he liked, then broke off to kiss the Master, who seemed to have appeared in front of her without the hassle of walking, and was now investigating her strange, familiar mouth without the hassle of needing to breathe air.  
  
Watching their increasingly interesting embrace (and pushing down some rather vicious thoughts involving 'Lucy,' 'plenty of practice,' 'such an obvious ploy to make me jealous,' and 'god did it work' which decidedly undermined his claim to have 'just slipped and accidentally punched out'  the Master's gun-wielding spouse before she could do any damage in the Valiant's control room after the paradox broke), the Doctor was suddenly confronted with something he'd never even thought to want before **:** A girl Master? Maybe he’d finally get to top. He glanced hopefully over at her. She caught his expression, snickered and walked over to him until they stood so close he could feel her breathing out her words.  
  
“Not a chance, dear hearts.” She leaned in to whisper, “I’m going to ride you ‘till you drop.” The Mistress toyed with the knot of his tie: tighter and looser and _tighter,_ fingers running up and down the silk: the adroit and greedy motions of a diva performing her favorite aria translated into touch. She smiled (and it was quite lovely, actually) before erupting into giggles.  
  
“My pretty pony,” she half-sang through her laughter, pushing him down and looming over him. She crouched on her hands and knees and grinning crazily, with the sweetest little twist of obsessive adoration tucked into the corner of her mad leer, like a birthday present, just for him. The male Doctor sighed and, surrendering with good grace, craned his neck up to kiss her. He could hear the other Doctor gasping out in a way that indicated That Thing He Liked in spades from somewhere to his left, and he could feel the Mistress’s tongue taking his mouth, her mind splashing into his, and her hands in his hair, at his buttons, on his wrists because she wanted everything, right at this instant.  
  
Apparently the Master was pretty true to form in any possible universe.

  


 

***

 

  
Later they'd had enough sense to move to the biggest bed the TARDIS could find (a comically large harem-sheik-chic affair complete with satin sheets and tassels that was so groan-inducingly cheesy in the morning light that the Doctors wondered why they'd even let Jack and/or Jackqueline near the architectural preferences). The four of them slumped, spent, in a rather cozy mound.  
  
  
"Why were you unconscious anyway, if the Doctor came through without any harm?" the Mistress wondered, annoyed at her double apparently having been incapacitated by a blow to the head. Again. Between the Brigadier's surprisingly capable right hook and that rock fall on Sarn she was starting to seriously consider some form of Magneto-inspired helmet. "What is he, protected from harm by the remnants of his sparkly Jesus-imagery? God that'd be so _like_ her," the Mistress rolled her eyes. Her Doctor tugged the bit of sandy blond hair she was playing with in retribution for the Mistress mocking her best Glen the Good Warlock impersonation.  
  
"He sort of materialized _in media res_ ," the Doctor explained, patting his lover's head sympathetically and addressing him. "We had to phase you out of a hunk of matter before we could start worrying about how you had come to be stuck midway through a tasteful chaise lounge in a parallel universe in the first place. Needless to say you'd passed out." Not really the otherwise convenient couch's  fault, though. He felt this strange urge to acquire a duplicate for his own TARDIS.  
  
"Oh, I recommend that sofa!" The female Doctor interjected with a bright thumbs up, "Quite comfy!"  
  
"On the subject of that chair looking suspiciously comfy, do you have a strap-on anywhere about?" the Master asked, as innocently as a naked man in a pool of three other naked people can really be expected to manage. The Mistress gave him the absolutely blank look teachers like to reserve for students of unfathomable cluelessness. She spoke very slowly, so as not to confuse him. 

  
"I'm a female you TARDIS-sharing with a female Doctor."  
  
"Point taken."  
  
"Not yet, but I'm up for it. Doctor?" she prodded the brunette girl in her lap. 

  
"Nap," the woman yawned, "Nap, then we defile my upholstery.  
  
"Do I have any role in this, or should I just wander around exploring, find out whether girl-me has an extensive teddy bear collection?" her double inquired, a bit miffed at apparently being less interesting than him-with-breasts.  
  
"Not just bears," a voice emerged from somewhere in the vicinity of the Mistress's breasts, muffled by a curtain of dark brown hair, "There's stuffed Sea Devils and a plushy Raston Warrior Robot and the super-rare soft-toy Tafelshrew you got me for graduation." A bob of the head upwards indicated the gift-giver. "I even sleep with that."  
  
The Mistress smiled at the image of her Doctor, tired after a long day of being officiously righteous and probably saving something or other, curled up in a t-shirt, clutching her old present, a toy so old it was only preserved by the suffusing energies of the TARDIS. "Twee, sentimental moron," she said fondly. "Both of you. Imagine you complaining," she pinched the male Doctor's thigh lightly, "When you're right after her in the batting order. You _are_ a needy thing."  
  
"No need to wait turns. I'd like to watch you have yourself after I do, I think," the Master grinned, eyes glazing. "That'd be quite the tableaux."  
  
"I'm sure we're all very sexy, but unless you two stop plotting and let me nap we're not going to find out," the female Doctor rolled from breasts to pillow and buried her face in it with conviction. 

  
The male Doctor grunted in sleepy agreement. "And here I thought we were all telepathic- mind plot or something, I dunno, practice hypnotizing each other--"

  
"Do you think that could work?" the Mistress was terribly curious.

  
"Of cour-- you know? Actually? I've no idea. Not tired, though," the Master considered, "Do you have an insatiable urge to do it until we pass out in an admittedly stupid attempt to find out which one of us is really the best?"  
  
"Race you to the zero room," she raised an eyebrow tauntingly.

  
"You'll cheat!"  
  
"Tough!" With a loud clatter the two Masters scrambled out of the bed and out the door, elbowing each other out of the way. The Doctors naturally slid into the recently vacated warm spot at the center of the bed and spooned. 

  
"Does she wear you out on occasion?" he rumbled into her ear. Her soft smile diffused over her face.  
  
"Oh she's the most exasperating, stubborn thing ever born, I'm sure of it. But she's also the most interesting." He yawned his agreement. 

  
"'Night, Doctor," she nuzzled his chin, still amused by the scraggly scruff of facial hair poking through-- he needed a shave, how weird was that?  
  
"Mmm. Sleep tight, Doctor." 

  
And (until they were woken obscenely early by their Masters wanting to try that thing with the comfy couch and wheedle the Doctors into making chocolate-chip pancakes, insistent and whiny as kids at a slumber party) they did.

 


End file.
